


Why Do You Need To Go?

by orphan_account



Category: Cinderella 2015
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 13:11:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4707176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A small boy asks his father that simple question, and his view on war is changed (for the better) forever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Do You Need To Go?

The King stood, leaning on the mantle piece and forehead resting on his arm, staring into the fire that brightly consumed the logs on the hearth in the informal drawing room in the Royal Apartments, long after his family had went to bed. His queen had urged him to retire with her and catch some sleep, but he had refused. He would never have fallen asleep anyway, knowing he would return to the battlefield after all these years. Eleven years, to be exact.

The frontline was no place for a seventeen year old boy, even if he was a prince, and he had learnt that very quickly - even if his father had ignored the fact. He had never been inclined to go, but it had been his duty as a prince (just as it was his duty now, as a king) to go in his fathers place. Being forced to lead men to their deaths, watch the life drain out of your comrades and ‘enemies’ alike, hear the screams of dying men surround you and know it was your fault, that was more than Kit could bear. It had taken him months to leave behind the nightmares, though still there were nights when he would wake up, drenched in cold sweat with Ella soothing him as best she could.

Kit had promised himself he wouldn’t bring his country into another war. That was one of the only things he was sure of as the crown had been set on his head, the other being he loved a mysterious girl in glass slippers. And yet now, after months of unrest and pressure from his declared allies to enter into the war that raged throughout the kingdoms, the King was giving in, after a direct attack on a main trade route that had been under his lands protection. It was unavoidable, he tried to tell himself. He couldn’t not fight. He especially didn’t wish to leave now, though he knew it was his duty as King to set an example for those he was meant to shelter, with his children so young and furiously determined to grow.

His youngest, Marcus, was two and a half years old, and although he had a limited vocabulary it had started off with a heart stopping “Papa” and it had persisted in expanding. He would have loved the blonde angel just as much had his first word been “Mama” in exchange, but as Ella was the one who had spent her days talking to their children (his royal duties interfering with his time spent with them) it made sense they imitated her speech pattern. He didn’t want to miss as single second of his childhood, though his advisors had assured him he, personally, would not be in the field more than a year and the war looked to last no more than two. This temperamental, adorable and secretly caring toddler always seemed to make his day that bit more special, and so precious was the feeling of holding him in his arms the young king feared it was all a dream.

And Aenor… The crown princess grew to look more like her mother every time her father saw her, even her hair colour changing as the years passed, lightening from black to now a deep shade of brown. Ella believed by the time she was fully grown her hair would be the same as hers, and Kit was glad. The only thing that would remain in her face that belonged to Kit was her eyes, and he preferred it that way. Her mother was the beautiful one, not Kit. She was smart and sweet and kind, and at four had enchanted the entire court with her laughter and smiles, lighting up the room as she went. Just yesterday it seemed she was a tiny, irregular stirring in his love’s, then swollen, stomach and her growth made Kit worry to blink.

“Papa.” A small voice mumbled from the doorway, causing Kit to turn. He had failed to hear the soft pitter-patter of a child’s feet approaching, and found his eldest’s big brown eyes, wide and concerned, staring up at him. “Papa, why do you need to go?”

“What?” Kit asked, bemused as the prince took a step closer to his father. “Critter, you should be in bed.”

“I asked Mama why you were so upset at supper.” He explained, looking guiltily to his feet. “Why do you need to go?” Reiteration of the statement caused Kit to feel even more regretful of his difficult position.

Critter was six years old and the image of his father, and took his responsibilities very seriously as eldest when looking after his siblings was concerned. He was tall for his age, with a goofy grin that he used in weak attempts to avoid trouble and a gangly awkwardness that was distinctly familiar to Kit. That would only get worse as his growth rate increased, Kit recalling how at fifteen he had skilfully fallen down a flight of stairs, tripping over his own feet. It was really a miracle the young king had ever learnt to dance at all. Christopher looked all set for those painful minutes of humiliation, but he was his mothers son and had a sense of forbearance and good humour that the king had been lacking in. And, like all the children, was in possession of a heart made of solid gold.

“Sometimes we make difficult decisions because it is expected of us.” Kit tried to explain kneeling so that he was at eye level with his young son. “But I want you to know that I, in no way, want to leave you or your brother and sister or your mother.”

“I don’t want you to go, either.” Christopher said, wrapping his arms about his father with a considerable amount of solemnity, burying his head in Kit’s shoulder.

“I’m going to miss you, a lot.” Kit told him, feeling his slight breaths as he hugged him closer to him. “And I want you to look after everyone while I’m gone, okay?” Christopher nodded obediently. “You’re going to promise me you’ll be kind to Mama, because she is going to have a lot of things to do from now on.” Another nod.

“Have courage and be kind.” The little boy murmured quietly, and that at least brought a smile to Kit’s face.

“Yes, just as your mother says.” The King agreed. “And listen to her, no matter what. People do things they don’t want to do, and Kings and Queens are no exception, but your mother is always right.”

“Always?”

“That was one of the first things I learnt about her.” Kit answered. “Now, why don’t we get you to bed?”

“As long as you go to sleep too.” The boy bargained, and the King agreed with a chuckle.  
In later years, when Critter no longer cared for the nickname ‘Critter’ and had escaped the hereditary awkwardness of growth spurts, the prince came to realise his father had tried to explain to him the pain and suffering that war brought on all and knew then and there that this was the reason behind his intense resentment of warfare.


End file.
